A nice start to the day came when we got the newspapers off the door and read the headlines.
But of course the journey wasn’t complete. When Kenneth went to the concierge to get a boarding pass, the fellow said there is snow in Kashmir, and our scheduled 5 pm plane would be coming from there so there might be a delay and thus it was possible we could miss the Delta connection at 1:25 a.m. (And I knew that since Delta didn’t make our internal air reservations, they would have no responsibility to get us home.) What lovely initiative! Over the next hour he talked to our Indian travel agency and they got us earlier tickets (change fee c. $70, I think), and made arrangements for a driver to get us to the airport at the new time, and a transfer person in Mumbai for the revised schedule.
We enjoyed a new route to the airport, this time through the embassy part of town. An occasional drizzle was a surprise, and the fog/smog was thicker than usual. I liked the Indigo airline (Go.Indi.Go) message at the counter:
And they had good service, offering K a special seat while waiting to begin boarding the nice bus to the new plane, with its great access device - a jointed ramp, with no steps!
After 2 hours in the air we landed in Mumbai, got the bags in reasonable time, and found our pick-up agent easily. I liked the Gandhi message over the entry.
The ride from the domestic terminal to the hotel was full of photo opps, from new construction to one last tuk-tuk shot to begging women with babies and little kids darting through traffic selling books and souvenirs and knocking on car windows.
We had a “day room” at the Lalit Hotel very close to the international terminal. (I don’t know what makes it a day room; Kenneth slept in the bed, and it looked like any other nice room.)
I had great plans to take a shower and change clothes but that all changed when K asked if I had checked on the arrival of our marble table from Agra. Arghh: It had not been delivered to the hotel. But the Duty Manager became my new best friend and promised to do some searching while we ate, as phone calls to the company got no response. I sent off emails to Agra to cancel the order since it wasn’t here and we were going to the airport in 2 hours.
The dining room was another experience, especially as a gigantic Japanese tour group arrived on our heels. The restaurant had an a la carte menu, but a bowl of soup was $10, so we figured the buffet was a better deal even though it was c. $30. But when I checked the long line of hot dishes, I found every one had an Indian name. With patience, we found the lead guy and a nice young chef who offered to cook us pasta with our choice of sauces, and to grill some shrimp, fish, and tenderloin. Beef - after 2-1/2 weeks without. (BTW we were successful in going the full time without a single salad or uncooked/unpeeled fruit or vegetable.) The grilled things were perfect; what a fine surprise. And the dal was so delicious, I'd like to have the recipe!
Back in the room, I got an email response that the table was at the Blue Dart office; someone from the seller had written to ask them to allow a hotel employee to pick it up. Meanwhile, it turns out the concierge had spent the hour tracking it down, and had been told I would have to pick it up in person, with my passport. The DM was distressed that his hotel cars had all gone to the hotel for pick-ups, and he was afraid a taxi driver wouldn’t be able to find the place, and he couldn’t wait for his cars to come back because I didn’t have enough time. He was blissfully easy to understand as he had worked a cruise ship out of Ft Lauderdale for 5 years.
We had no Indian money left and just a little American, so I exchanged $20, the DM negotiated a price with a taxi guy, and we took off. The driver wanted to talk, it seemed, and handed me some list to look at. Of course I couldn’t understand him, and actually got a little anxious about what he wanted (more money, or no return? My imagination was wired). This was the one point of anxiety - so I practiced deep-breathing as I looked around the shoddy interior, noted the folded-in side rearview mirror with no glass, observed the neighborhood activity...and then after about five minutes I heard the guy answer his phone and then say You are a lucky woman. He made a U-turn at the next opportunity and we returned to the hotel where Blue Dart delivery guys were waiting.
The “canvas bag” with the marble and legs, something that would fit in the overhead bin - essential because it’s fragile - turned out to be a too-large-for-the-bin heavy box. The men were insisting on being paid for the delivery (261 rupees, c. $5). But the DM was insistent that I not pay, as I had already paid the driver Rs 300, and the company had been aggravating and uncooperative. So while the poor bell guy held the box and I stood there, a long conversation in Hindi followed, complete with phone calls to the Blue Dart boss. Finally, the DM motioned me to go up the room, and I left him still arguing with the guys.
So much for the shower plan; no time to change into comfortable flying clothes. I crammed my stuff back into suitcase and bag, went downstairs to pay the bill for dinner and internet connection, tip the concierge and get contact info for the General Manager so I could write my thanks. And by the time I had done that, our transfer guy and driver had arrived. I turns out the DM has been on the job here less than a month. He returned to India because his mother, who is alone, isn’t well; apparently it was easier for him than for his brother, who is in the [Indian] restaurant business in New York. Of course my preferred solution for all this would have been to let Blue Dart return the table to Agra as undeliverable...but the DM said I’d never get my charge refunded. Maybe some day I will come to love this table! (NB: I wrote the GM of the hotel about my gratitude before I started this post!)
Off to the airport and the total joy of having my own transfer agent. He was worth his weight in gold, as he told us what papers to have next and where to go, filled in our immigration forms, converting what invariably is an unpleasant challenge when we’re on our own in a strange airport where English isn’t #1 into a lovely departure time.
We found the Delta lounge, and easily resisted all edibles except a bag of potato chips and a cola, the only familiar products. Boarding time was 12:30 for our 1:25 am. flight. Kenneth spent the hour chatting with the woman in the next lounge chair. Indian-born, she grew up in Scarsdale and teaches at the U of Michigan med school! I had time for a 30-minute massage at the “spa” we had just passed. Although the girl set up the chair somewhat uncomfortably, it turned out to be the best chair-massage of my life She was amazingly thorough, kneading or stretching every muscle in the upper ⅔ of my body. There were a few times near the end when I thought something might crack, as she had me sit up straight and moved my arms behind my back and turned them in odd positions. I just wish I hadn’t read and heard Nicholas Kristof, as now I can’t see a roomful of young Asian women working without worrying that they’ve been kidnapped and are being forced to work for nothing!
As we settled into the luxury of Business Class comfort, I again thanked Kenneth for working so hard and being so thrifty all his life. And then, as boarding in this cabin progressed, we heard an announcement we’d never heard before: We are spraying the aft cabin for mosquitoes. They should be gone soon. Egad! But I remember it’s Delhi and Agra that have been experiencing the dengue-fever-bearing mosquitoes recently, not Mumbai. (We had taken fancy Deet stuff to apply there, but had never seen a mosquito, and found the warnings on the Deet application more alarming than the possibility of a bite.) We did swat a few bugs in the plane, but felt no nibbles.
It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes after take-off that the “OK to use electronics” announcement was made. I pushed the button to turn the seat into a bed, pulled the down comforter up, and was asleep in a minute, even without eyeshade. A bit later I became conscious for just long enough to realize food had been served. I think I glimpsed croissant and melon...but I refused to become alert. Then, astonishingly, with my long history of miserable sleep efforts on long flights, the next time my eyes opened and i looked at the Flight Tracker screen on the front wall, it reported c. 3 hours to landing; I had slept c. 6 hoursl I wanted to teleport back to Mumbai and give that massage girl every penny I had!
We landed in Amsterdam 25 minutes early. In the lounge I snapped a photo, then went to plug in the computer to write.
YIKES! I realized I had left the computer and a portfolio with all the trip receipts on the plane! I raced off to the gate and made a new best friend with the Delta staffer finishing up her work, Brigit Bok. After two trips onto the plane, she reported it absolutely was not where I left it. And Security had been there during the entire cleaning. I was certain it was not in my bag, and I thought this was NOT a good end to the trip. 4,000 photos, an expensive new computer, etc. etc.
On the way back to the lounge I checked the "spa". Instead of $22 for a 30-minute massages it was something like $40 for 10 minutes. Easy decision: No. Back in the lounge I found that Brigit was there already. And from behind I could see what was in her hands: my treasures. It turns out someone had picked them up and given them to a KLM rep who had gotten them to her. (So I've also registered a compliment on delta.com already).
In 30 minutes we board again and hope for a dull 10+ hour trip to Atlanta.
Cheers to you...
The case was hand-stitched closed at one end.
Under the cotton we found a grid of packing tape.
The tape covered a wrapping of plastic.
Under the plastic was a fine grid of plastic twine.
